Head in the Clouds
by mentalillusions
Summary: Modern AU. Thomas is a flight attendant whose dreams becoming a pilot in the army haven't quite gone to plan. With a dead-end job, and non-existent love life, he can see no hope for a better future, that is until he meets a passenger who will change his life forever…Eventual Thommy.
1. Dwelling on the past

**A:N/ Okay so I've taken quite a bit of creative licence for things like how the plane company works and the army-hopefully you'll be able to excuse any inaccuracies.**

**This chapter is just kind of scene setting and setting the foundation for the rest of the story, introducing some of the main people, and a backstory for Thomas to explain why he's bitter and twisted in the future, like he is in the past, so sorry if it's a bit depressing(there's no such thing as a happy Thomas backstory!). The story will properly start after this.**

**I would really appreciate some feedback and for you to let me know what you think, as I'm sort of on the fence about this as I haven't written a modern AU before and it feels very different from everything else I've written.**

* * *

Thomas wheeled the drinks cart down the isle, listening to the clank of the bottles as they wobbled around next to each other. To say he was terribly bored would be understatement of the century; as he glanced around at the sea of passengers, some sleeping, some reading, none of them looking like they were enjoying themselves much, he found himself frowning in irritation that at least they got to sit down. The thought made Thomas suddenly very conscious of the aching pain stretching along his back, and all the way down his legs. _Ah, sit down._ Thomas felt like he hadn't sat in so long it was almost becoming a foreign concept to him. Speaking of foreign, he really hoped he didn't have to deal with a repeat of last week, trapped in the plane with at least 10 Italians , all suit clad, most likely another group on a business trip, and most importantly all arrogant bastards shouting some kind of order at him. He never did find out what they wanted in the end; it's not his fault they were making requests in a language he didn't speak. It was with no surprise that Thomas got a reprimanding when he returned to land from his boss, Charles Carson, manager of _'York Air Travel'._

Thomas scowled at the memory as he caught sight of a man signalling him over with a curt wave of his hand, just up the isle. _Honestly, you'd think that these people were Lord's. _Rolling over to a short, podgy looking man, with a face of thunder, he stopped and waited for his request asking "What can I get you" with a smile barely concealing his loathsome mood.

"I'd like to know where my dinner is, I've been waiting 20 minutes!" He said with a growl, obviously tired and growing impatient of the length of the flight. They had already been on the plane 7 hours, and were experiencing delays; the last he'd heard from behind the backdoor of the preparation area, they were likely to be on the plane another 5 hours. _Another 5 hours of this!_

"Well," Thomas said, giving a pointed glance around the room, "seeing as _nobody_ has got their food yet, I'd say it was still cooking." Thomas drawled.

The man's brow furrowed as if trying to comprehend what the steward had just said.

"You mean it's not _ready_ yet?" He said incredulously, voice full of shock at the very idea of having to wait a few minutes longer.

"Yes" Thomas said blankly, seeing no reason to dance around the subject due to the man's ignorance.

His face seemed to erupt in anger, before mellowing down quickly into an expression of annoyance, as he turned away with a _"Humph"_

Strolling back down isle of the plane pushing his cart, Thomas ducked into the backroom, where everyone was busy preparing food.

"Is the dinner nearly ready yet?" Thomas questioned aloud to on one in particular, his voice full of exasperation, as he brought a hand to his temple.

Just as the words left his mouth, a flustered Mrs. Patmore emerged from the Kitchen on the far wall, busting another food cart towards him, just stopping short of nearly hitting him. With a wipe of her brow she ordered Thomas to "take it away quick, this one's for business class."

As Thomas pushed his way back out through the door he saw Alfred, the newly recruited air attendant, who had absolutely no experience, other than briefly working in some shitty diner. He only got the job because of his connection to his aunt, Miss O'Brien, the company's PR. It had been rumoured among the workers that her and Carson had briefly had an affair on a business trip abroad to advertise their services to other countries. O'Brien-being a professional in making what she wants to happen, happen-bribed him with the deal that she wouldn't go off and tell his wife and co-owner, Elise Hughes, by not showing her the incriminating texts, if he hired her nephew. And that's now Thomas came to have the situation before him. He watched with petulance as the beanpole craned his neck down to talk to the stumpy man he had just spoken with.

Thomas sauntered over, trolley in hand.

"Is there something you need sir?" Thomas asked with an expression of reticence, shooting Alfred an aloof frown.

He replied swiftly in a raspy voice:

"I was just telling this young man how _disappointed_ I am with your performance, and how I will most certainly going to writing a letter of complaint, for which reason I requested he tell me your name." he huffed belligerently.

Thomas gave Alfred another callous look.

"You may leave; I no longer need your _assistance_." Thomas smiled bitterly at his co-worker, whose face crinkled in confusion, as he turned around slowly and made his way back towards the door to the next class.

Thomas glared at the man with abhor.

"I told you sir that the food was still being prepared, and that it would be ready shortly" Thomas said with a wave of his hand towards the trolley.

Stumpy man looked antagonistically at Thomas.

"You know, I don't think I like your attitude. So I think it's best you give me your name, sooner, rather than later."

Thomas was about to bash off an angry remark before an even better idea crossed his mind.

"Alfred. My name is Alfred Nugent sir" Thomas lied, a genuine smile ghosting across his face, before settling back down into his professional exterior, as he opened the door to the food cart.

"Now can I offer you some food?"

He knew it was foolish, he knew it was a stupid thing to do, and it would most likely all blow up in his face the minute they got back to England, but if he was being honest, he really didn't care, and he hadn't cared about, well anything really, in some time. As far as he was concerned, life had been cruel to him, and he thought he had some pretty valid reasons to be bitter. He took a deep breath and before he knew it, all his memories and woes came flooding back to him…

He had spent far too long working the same crappy job, at the same crappy level for nearly ten years. This isn't what he wanted. In reality he wanted to be a pilot. The idea of even having such a dream seemed laughable now. This was only meant to be a _temporary_ source of money. His family had said it would be best he got some experience, before applying to train via the army, _'it'll show that you really do want to work in that kind of job if you have a few years experience in the field'_ his mother had said, stupid as the suggestion was. For some ungodly reason he had thought that she was right, at the time the army was having so many applicants who were just signing up for some work to do, that they were having to turn people down. Getting experience sounded like the right thing to do.

He had left school at 16 thinking _'no need for A Levels, I'm going to be a pilot!'_ and spent the next two years living with his parents, and eventually started working in some sleazy gay bar downtown when he turned 17, situated down the road from several corporate building where all the rich, high-class, businessmen worked. They got a decent number of them coming in everyday. Every one of them having a different lifestyle situation; some had male partners, some were single, but Thomas found that a considerable number of them had wives; some even had kids with their wives as well. It was the type of joint where you couldn't even bend over without some guy slapping you on the arse. Thomas quickly found that-even though he would talk someone down for that behaviour in everyday life-that these men were rich, and a bit of casual flirting didn't hurt. It didn't hurt at all. At one point he was getting nearly £70 a day in tips alone just because the guys thought he was hot. And that's not to mention the amount of offers for sex he received. Some were tempting, but still being a virgin, he decided to decline, thinking it best not to make the first time a casual arrangement. His whole don't-have-sex-with-the-customers belief changed around the time he met Philip Crowborough, a wealthy man from a respected family, playing with the idea of _work _for something to do. He had pulled Thomas in with his unusual charm and gentlemanly behaviour, not once treating him like the object which he had come to expect from everyone at the establishment. He soon became besotted as the other told him about his _'cruel'_ parents who wanted him to marry rich girl to keep the family line going, despite him expressing his love for both sexes. His romancing-albeit over the bar table, and never once on an official date-made butterflies flutter inside his stomach, and soon enough he had won his heart, and his underwear. He remembered it all with a scowl, how he had thought that he was so fancy, but in reality was too much of an arse to even book them a hotel. He lost his virginity in the back seat of Philip's car. Looking back, he could see now that all he wanted was some attention and some love. He had been so sad ever since his father had died when he was 12, and at that moment, although he was gasping for a sexual experience, he also was just looking to fill up the void his father had left. He had never quite got on with his mother, she wasn't mean, but she just didn't seem to understand him, and he decided that she was unlikely to, so decided against telling her his preferences.

The memory now made his skin crawl, made him feel _dirty, used, unwanted_. He had only known Philip a month before he gave in to his subtle suggestions- _'your_ _body would really warm up my cold, loveless bed.'_ _Lair!_ He never even saw the bed, netalone his house. A week after their first time together, he was caught in his own bed with him.

His mother kicked him out and told him to _'stop being such a bum and get a proper job.'_

Thomas never saw her again after that.

By then he was old enough to become a flight attendant at 18 and quickly joined on to the new plane company 'York air travel.' It was originally planned that he would only work there for three years tops, and had even hoped for the possibility of promotion. The only slight change which could perhaps qualify as 'moving up' if you told some one (leaving out most of the details), was him being allowed to be in charge of business and first class. When he first heard about this _job improvement_, he was excited, but after finding out it had no pay increase, and the customers were actually _more difficult,_ he soon felt otherwise. In reality, Carson just wanted to run the company cheap and effectively, resulting in him having to look after two classes' simultaneously.

At the age of 23, after working as a steward for 5 years, he tried to apply to the RAF again, having applied several times throughout the past few years. Ecstasy filled him when he got a letter saying he had gotten accepted on the grounds of passing his medical. Turned out, somewhere in those years of waiting, his visual acuity has dropped by one meaning he no longer qualified. With no qualifications and dreams crushed, Thomas stayed on in the company.

Thomas had always wanted to be a pilot ever since he was a little child; and as he got older the dream only grew more intense. For Thomas, the concept of being able to fly anywhere seemed like being able to be free from life itself. As he got older into his teen years, he felt he wanted to escape his mundane life and have something more exciting, more thrilling, something more impressive. Thomas had never been that good with people, his mother always said he was too _defensive_, pushed people away to _quickly_, never let anybody in. In truth, he just couldn't bear to feel the emptiness of loss again, or the embarrassment of being used, he didn't want to feel completely alone. So he figured, if he never had anybody, he would have no one to lose, no one to say that they didn't love him anymore. People said that growing up made him cold, but, at this stage of his life he could see that the world was already cold, and he was only reacting to the environment, seeing things as they really were. His was an anti-social person anyway by nature, even as a child people were surprised by his sarcasm, his riposte, his haughty attitude. No one really seemed to understand Thomas, apart from himself.

A handful of shattered hopes, a dead-end career, and a depressing lack of people to call _loved ones_ is what lead Thomas down the path leading to the current day.

He really didn't have much to show for his life so far. No exciting information under his name, nothing of interest inside his file of achievements.

Thomas: Age 30. A small motel room on the wrong sides of the track. A job and lifestyle inappropriate for that of a fully grown adult. No relationship status.

For Christ sakes, the only thing he'd ever had to look after, apart from himself, was Spuddy the goldfish, who lasted less than two weeks when he forgot he might need to fed him every time he left, eventually ending their owner-pet bond when Thomas had to scope him out the bowl and flush him down the toilet.

If he couldn't even look after a goldfish, then what hope did he have of finding a man? Thomas had hoped that someone would come along, but with a busy work schedule, and not enough friends for a real social life (and he hardly felt getting drunk in the pub with Tom constituted an exciting social life), his plans for love, along with many others, also ended up failing.

_All I have is my mediocre job, and I'll be damned if anybody tries to take that from me! _Thomas thought with a scowl, shaking his head slightly to dispel all thoughts of his past, as he thrust meals into the laps of customers. _No point in thinking about what has been any longer; I need to focus on the present._

Crashing through the door to the backroom with and almighty _smash_, Thomas stormed towards Alfred.

"What do you think you were doing in business class, you know that you only work in lower class!" Thomas roared, throwing his hands up in the air at his cowering co-worker.

"He asked to speak with me!" Alfred justified.

Thomas gave a mocking laugh.

"Well _you_ should have told him that it wasn't _your_ place to speak to him!"

And with that Thomas stomped off through the door again to continue his work.


	2. Beginning of a feud

** A:N/ perhaps O'B is a little OOC is this but I needed to introduce their feud. Oh and I may have just created the grossest ship ever-Carson and O'Brien *shudders* SoldierOfMyShadowyMind suggested that they be called O'Brison, so if they didn't already have a shipper name, then that's it! :D Sorry for any mistakes and I'd be very grateful if you reviewed. thanks xoxox**

* * *

Thomas sucked in heavily on his cigarette, resting his back against the outer wall of the staff exit to the air port; deciding that he had enough time to take a breather before catching the bus home.

He glanced at O'Brien through his peripheral vision, not yet wanting to even look at her, let alone speak with her. It wasn't her fault, not really, but Thomas was still pissed off none the less. Alfred had only had the job and been on flight with them for a week, and he was already stepping out of line, trying to attend to _his_ class when it was made clear that he was to work on the lower class section only.

Thomas drew a deep breath of the cigarette, before moving his hand to rest on his hip, turning his head to O'Brien.

"So I s'ppose the rumours are true then" Thomas thought aloud, well aware that his goading would likely rill her up.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about" she replied indifferently, smoothing her hands over her starchy uniform skirt, before bring them up to rummage through her purse.

"Oh don't act so blasé, we all know that you're completely and utterly depraved" Thomas ribbed roguishly, taking another inhale of his cigarette, letting the smoke exhale as he spoke.

She withdrew a cigarette from her own pack, casting him a disapproving look.

Thomas frowned in confusion.

"_What?_ What you got that face on for now?" Thomas queried, feeling as though he had suddenly missed a vital part to the conversation.

"I'll have you know this is my natural expression!" O'Brien bit back, a look of chagrin flashing across her features quickly, before being replaced with a sneer.

"Baloney! I know yer face is bad, but it ain't that bad!" Thomas laughed mischievously. O'Brien, however, did not find the situation amusing, as her face creased tentatively, highly uncharacteristic for the friend he'd known for so many years. He had intended to complain about her stupid nephew, but it soon became apparent that something more pressing was at hand.

"Aye, what's the matter? You ain't usually like this, what's gotten into yer?" Thomas said hesitantly, hovering a hand over her shoulder, briefly tapping it awkwardly before drawing away, trying his best not to appear overly insensitive, despite that being, outwardly, his default attitude.

_Nothing._

"C'mon, what's the matter? You can tell me, I know I'm a bit of a tosser, but we're friends aren't we? No need to be keeping secrets." said Thomas, lightly nudging her shoulder with his own as he spoke.

"You got a qualm? If your worried about me thinking less of yer, then yer needn't worry, I've always known that you're a scheming mercenary! We're scheming mercenaries together. C'mon give us a smile, I know yer don't know norm-"

"It wasn't a scheme Thomas…not this time…at least that's not what it started out as" O'Brien interjected, meeting his eye briefly, before bowing her head back down.

_Oh._

"Oh…oh, well, I um…_really? _Carson? Our boss, old, furry eye browed Mr. Carson? You really..?"

"Yes really!" she replied angrily, unlit cigarette temporally forgotten about.

"But…_together_…? But _why? What_, and then yer…_blackmailed_ him? Geez! I thought I was bad but-" Thomas said trailing off, admittedly slightly astounded, and disgusted. Yes, definitely disgusted._ I wouldn't sleep with Carson even if me life depended on it!_

"I was lonely, okay! We can't all be emotionless like you. At least I was able to _get _someone! You couldn't even find a man who'd agree to bed with you, even if you were payin'!" She growled, frustrated, deciding Thomas was a suitable source to take her anger out on. "You haven't had a man" she pretended to count on her fingers, before screwing her hand into a fist, "why, ever!"

For a split second Thomas felt a feeling akin to hurt sting in his chest, but he soon pushed it out of his mind, and gave her his coldest stare. _Who the hell does she think she is? How dare she thinks that she knows me, when she knows nothing at all!_

She took a deep breath, her expression softening slightly.

"You know that it ain't easy being on yer own Thomas…ever since my husband Mosley died, I-" She stopped abruptly when she saw he was still wearing his devoid, blank face and gave him another sneer "oh you're so robotic, so cruel-I don't know why I even bother trying to explain, you're _incapable_ of understanding _human_ emotions!" she screeched, throwing her unused cigarette on the floor, and heading to the door. Just as she was about to turn the handle, she stopped, and spun around to face him.

"Oh and thanks a million for what yer did to Alfred, that guy decided he'd just go straight to the management and say how _awful_ he is! You didn't really think you could get yerself out of trouble by blamin' him, did yer?" she gave a deep sigh, "You really are even more low than I thought you was. I may have done something wrong, something I regret, but at least I can _feel_ the regret, unlike you. Thomas Barrow you are going to pay for what you've done!"

And with that she was gone, leaving Thomas on his own, mouth so agape he needed to pick his jaw up off the floor.

_Guess that's the end of our friendship then._


	3. All a misunderstanding

**A:N/ I am soo sorry that this is such a late update. Well here, have some masturbating Thomas and some small references to Psycho.**

**Oh and sorry for any mistakes. **

* * *

An hour and a half later, Thomas found himself stepping off the bus and treading heavily up the path to his apartment. Well, it wasn't an apartment as such; it was actually just a motel room, and a cheap one at that. As Thomas walked past the sign, he glanced up and sighed as he observed that the burnt out neon letters still hadn't been replaced. The lights which once read _'bates motel'_ now spelt _'ate moe'_.

Gingerly, he rattled through his pocket to find his keys, and then went into the room. The bulb flickered uncertainly as he switched on the lights and collapsed onto the small narrow bed in his room, sinking into the mattress as the springs dipped beneath him, old and bent out of shape. Thomas scowled as he looked up to see the shared wall with the room next door shake violently, followed by the sounds of satisfied moans and grunts. It didn't take long for him to wish there was a man in his bed to making him groan out in pleasure, but he swiftly pushed that desire down to join all the other things which were best left unthought-of.

However, no matter how much he tried to not think about sex, which he knew would lead to the depressing reminder of his non-existent love life, he soon found that he couldn't help but think of a beautiful man lying next to him-_or perhaps on top?_-stroking a hand through his hair, and whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

The thought was enough to get him started.

Slipping his body under the sheets, he shuffled about in attempt to make himself more comfortable, before sliding a hand underneath the waistband of his trousers, taking himself in hand, and stroking gently.

The rhythm and pace of his movements picked up as he tried to imagine that the noises he was hearing from the couple next door were coming from a lover of his own, attempting to lure himself deep into a reverie where he could almost believe that it was someone else's hand down there making his breath quicken. He inhaled sharply as he came into his palm, his hand now sticky as he drew it away and out of his pants. Climbing out from under the covers, he grunted angrily as he realised that somehow in the process he must have accidently smeared cum on the front of his work trousers.

_Eh, I'll clean it up later._

Removing his clothes and turning off the light, Thomas slipped himself back into bed, and tried to dream of a better world and a happier ending for himself.

* * *

Through bleary eyes, Thomas tentatively roused himself awake, reading the time on the clock by his bedside with a mild sense of revulsion. This disgust for the early hour soon turned to flailing panic as he jolted upright, looking at the numbers again.

_Shit. Bugger. Fuck._

He was late. _Very late._ Now unlike other jobs, where if you were late you'd get a disapproving look and a scolding, things don't quite work like that as a flight attendant, if you were late, your job would fly away. He couldn't let that happen.

Thomas rolled out of bed hurriedly, sheets tangling around his legs as he crawled along the floor and pulled himself up in haste. In a record breaking speed, he threw yesterdays trousers on and grabbed a shirt out of the closet, doing it up as he left the room.

Stumbling out the door, he noticed with contempt the couple next door also leaving. This wasn't the first time he'd seen them, but he certainly wasn't happy to find out it was them he was masturbating to.

The young blonde, which he'd come to know as Anna, smiled at him pleasantly.

"Good morning Mr Barrow" she said with a gentle wave of her hand.

Mr Bates put his arm around her waist, giving Thomas a curt nod as he walked her to her car.

He had often contemplated giving away the secret of John's affair to his wife who lived in the house across the street, parallel to the motel. But as appealing as the idea was, he always decided not to. He didn't really want to risk losing his home. He had lived there so long he almost treated it like rented accommodation, and he didn't really fancy shifting 10 years worth of crap out of the place. Plus it was the cheapest motel in the whole of York, and quite possibly the country. All the items in the rooms were old, worn down, and outdated, and despite having asked when the rooms would be done up again, he was repeatedly answered with a scowl and the reply _'Mrs Bates wants to leave things as they are.' _Thomas had never actually seen the lady herself and had eventually come to the conclusion after the first few years, that there wasn't in fact a Mrs Bates, and it was all just made up because John had some kind of commitment issues. He had often thought of telling Anna this as well. He rather fancied himself as a professional heartbreaker; after all he knew plenty about what it took to break someone's heart. His seemed to be permanently broken and there wasn't even a man in his life.

* * *

He felt rather proud of himself that he managed to make the bus in seconds flat and arrive at work on time.

Although, his joy was short lived when he saw O'Brien scowl as she walked towards him, pulling her bag onto her shoulder with a little more swagger than what was called for. _Bugger!_ He'd nearly forgotten about their misunderstanding yesterday, but he wasn't about to apologise, that wasn't how he did things.

"Carson wants to see you in his office" she said with a sneer, enjoying being the messenger of bad new, as she walked past, knocking him with her arm in the process.

_Stroppy cow._

Thomas rounded the stairs up to the offices on the second floor and entered the room cautiously. "You asked to see me Mr Carson?" he asked in as polite a tone as he could muster.

"Yes, I wanted to speak with you about yesterday. I expect you already know of the incident I'm referring to?" Mr Carson said, shuffling papers and putting them into a pile at the edge of the desk.

Thomas nodded wearily, but kept a calm exterior; he already had his excuse planned out.

"Now you know" Carson began but then paused, his eyes dropping to below Thomas' waist. He frowned in confusion. _What the fuck does he think he's looking at? Is he staring at my crotch? Pervert- _"Thomas, what is that on you company trousers?" he queried, leaning forward, his frown deepening.

_Oh bollocks. I forgot to wash that off, didn't I? _

Thomas looked down at the offending white splotch listlessly.

"I erh-I'll wash it off after this"

Carson nodded sceptically, apparently not wanting any more explanation than that.

"and the thing with Alfred, that was merely a misunderstanding. You see I misheard to the man, I thought he asked for Alfred's name" Thomas lied easily, with a nod.

"Fine" Carson said offhandedly with a wave of his hand, making it clear he really couldn't be fucked to deal with Thomas' shit today. Thomas had always been a trouble maker of sorts, never enough to get himself fired, but just enough to rile everyone up.

* * *

When he went to join the group of employees slowly meandering up the concrete floor outside, towards the plane, he didn't fail to notice the few odd looks towards himself, then back to the person they were walking with. These looks continued to happen in a sort of cycle, each time the person looking a little longer, and a little more like the wanted to laugh, each time. After a few minutes, Thomas had decided that he was sick with the constant glances, and even more sick with the murmured words they were exchanging.

"Is there something the matter?" he called out to the group of catering girls, who giggled even louder, before turning their heads to look at him with grins.

"I'm sorry, it's just that you like-" Daisy began, her eyes wondering downwards.

"It looks like you've pissed yerself Thomas" Ivy, the new recruit finished, before going into another bout of hysterics.

_Bitch._

As if the conversation wasn't already bad enough, Alfred joined in. "Oh well, he can't help it, our Thomas here isn't getting any younger y'know." He said, swinging his arm around his waist like they were _friends._ "He isn't the same man he once was. His bodies going, and soon his mind will be to!" Alfred announced, always eager to impress the new girl Ivy ever since she joined, stumbling slightly as Thomas pushed him away. Alfred seemed to be working on the strange logic that because him and Ivy were both new, somehow this automatically made them friends. He seemed to assume this with a lot of people and Thomas hated it. Watching Alfred treat Ivy like his soul sister was enough to make him want to run away and look himself in the luggage compartment for the rest of time, safely away from Alfred and all his ignorance and stupidity.

Ivy, unimpressed and seemingly bored with the joke which was once hers, nodded and turned back to Daisy who gazed at Alfred with sad eyes, before going back to her friend to continue in conversation.

He glared and Alfred, feeling peeved. "And how exactly would you know what I was once like, seeing as you've only been here a matter of weeks?" Thomas asked, with just the hint of a smirk knowing he would have no response, and consequently look like (even more of) a fool.

The ginger flight attendant opened and closed his mouth a few times, grasping for an answer. "Well, I um-"

Before he could get any further, Thomas pushed past him, storming ahead with his head held high, saying as he went, "And that's Mr Barrow to you."

* * *

The day was uneventful, and dare he say it, even more tedious and dull than usual. But at least it was a relatively short trip, flying there and back to Italy, and at they end of the day he was going back to England. At first it seemed exciting to go to other countries and be put up in a hotel, one a damn sight nicer than his grotty room, but the thrill quickly wore off and it soon became a drag. At least today they never did over night trips.

And that was good because today happened to be his favourite day in the week-and through the years it had come to be known as simply _'drinking day'_-every Tuesday him and his friend Branson would go out and get absolutely trollied. Tom was his best and only friend, and they had come together purely because they wanted to have some fun. When they had first met, Thomas was working an evening shift at the airport bar (which he still did to try and rack up some more money) he had thought him an overly political dick at the time (and in many ways still did), and had scowled as he watched him rant and rave drunkenly about the _'crumbling society'_. However, he had to admit, he was slightly impressed when over hearing some of his political schemes. Branson had a rebellious attitude, powered by crazed passion, and as he tried to talk through his ideas with anyone sitting within arms distant, he found many of his qualities quite alike to his own; he was just controlled by a different source of rage. Thomas had watched him natter mindlessly for the best part of 3 months, so when he tried to talk to him, he found they hit it off quite well.

Going home to throw on some casual clothes beforehand, Thomas made his way outside towards their favourite pub, where nothing they did was ever considered to be too _'drunk and disorderly'_, which was amazing considering the things they normally got up to were almost always in that category.


End file.
